


Monstrous

by Suphomie



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Captivity, Frankenstein vibes, Power Imbalance, Steampunk, Unhealthy Relationships, parascience, scientist!Theo, victorian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-19 21:15:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14245917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suphomie/pseuds/Suphomie
Summary: Theo is the only person he can remember having in his life. He was the first thing Stiles saw when he woke up, and he’s been there since.





	Monstrous

Stiles doesn’t remember the life he had before this one.

He knows he _had_ one. He was a corpse afterall, he had a life that he died in. He remembers little things, facts he learned, things about the outside world that you only know from experience. Just nothing specific, like where he lived or who his parents were or if he had any siblings. He doesn’t even remember what his real name was. He’s never known why Theo decided to call him Stiles, because it’s not what his name was before.

Before. Yes, before Theo brought his corpse back from the dead. Before he dug up his body, fixed the broken parts, and resurrected him as a new person. He has the same mind as before, some of the same parts, but he’s not the same person, whoever that was. Now he’s Theo’s creation. His _creature_. 

He knows exactly where Theo took him apart and replaced parts of his body with somebody else’s. From his left collar bone to his wrist is where Theo stitched another, foreign skin to his body. Down the center of his right arm is a line of scalpel, kept shut with thick metal staples. From his right knee down is where Theo cut off his rotting leg and built a new one from leftover parts. He can’t feel them, but half of his organs are not his own, one’s of someone else that Theo transplanted. His kidneys, his spleen, his lungs. His heart. He can trace the stitches of exactly where Theo cut his chest open with his eyes closed.

Theo is the only person he can remember having in his life. He was the first thing Stiles saw when he woke up, and he’s been there since. He spends nearly all of his time downstairs in his laboratory, either researching parascience or working on his machines. Or sometimes his time is spent with Stiles. Keeping Stiles alive and healthy, making sure his stitches haven’t broken open, sewing them back when they have. But other times his purpose is more leisurely. Stiles does not know exactly where Theo goes off when he’s away from the laboratory, he’s not gone often enough to be in school or work, but is gone enough for Stiles to notice his absence. 

Theo’s labartory - hidden away deep below his estate - is a labyrinth of tunnels and rooms, easy to get lost in if you don’t know it well. Luckily Stiles has spent enough time living here that he knows it like the back of his hand. The main operating theatre is where Theo will normally spend his time, which means Stiles will spend a lot of his time there as well. It’s where Stiles woke up for the first time, lying on the metal table sitting in the room’s center. Through the east tunnel leads to more rooms where Theo keeps other equipment and machinery. Down the west tunnel is a tiled room with a shower head and a big metal drain on the floor where Stiles occasionally baths in the freezing cold water. Further down that tunnel is Stiles’ room, though it’s not much of a room at all, just a small operating room that Theo cleared out and put a cot in. He’s attempted to make it more liveable by adding silk drapes, candles, and blankets, but it’s still a dank, dreary place.

By now Stiles has come to know the day’s patterns very well; that tends to happen when your days are filled with nothing but winding tunnels and a single other person. Theo comes down around the time Stiles wakes, bringing food, usually hardened bread and raw vegtables, with the occasional treat of a baked pastry of some sort. After that Theo usually spends his time working in the laboratory. Some days Theo doesn’t get any work done and spends his time with Stiles instead. Stiles prefers days like that. But on days where Theo _is_ busy working, Stiles spends his days however he can pass the time, reading anything from textbooks to Theo’s scientific journals, exploring the tunnels he’s been down hundreds of times, pacing the confines of his room, even watching Theo work if he can’t find anything else to occupy himself. It’s never enough to keep his mind from wandering, though.

Stiles has not been outside of this lab since the day he woke up, however long ago that was. It’s hard to keep track of time down here. Despite the miles of winding tunnels and rooms that once felt so vast and never ending, after exploring every inch of the lab it feels confined and claustrophobic. The only light Stiles gets is dull gas lamps and wax candles. It makes this place feel like a prison. Which really isn’t too far from the truth. The only exit, at the top of a long, narrow staircase, is kept locked at all times. Stiles couldn’t leave if he tried. Theo would never allow that.

The desire to escape is something Stiles experiences often, but it’s a passing thought more than an impulse. He knows it’s not possible, not when Theo doesn’t want him gone. Theo knows how to get what he wants and will stop at nothing to get it. Why should this be any different? The lack of impulse is also due to the fact that Stiles, in a way, has become accustomed to this life. He doesn’t remember anything different. He’s accustom to the hot steam that shoots from the metal pipes lining the walls every few minutes, the only source of heat down here. Accustom to the jars with organs floating inside of them being left about. To the way needles feel while piercing his flesh. To the way his bare feet feel against the cold stone floor and to the way the worn fabric of Theo’s old, blood speckled clothes feel on against skin. To the way Theo’s face looks completely focused when he works on Stiles’ body.

Stiles winces when the sharp pain of a needle forcing it’s way through the skin on his arm takes him from his thoughts. 

Theo doesn’t look up from Stiles’ arm, thick bronze goggles covering his eyes, blood on his hands. “Stay still,” He commands from next to him, sewing the skin on Stiles’ arm back into place carefully, precisely. He’s dressed in his usual attire, black trousers and a dark patterned waistcoat snug over his puffy white undershirt, sleeves rolled up. Stiles has every inch of Theo mapped as well, from his slicked back light brown hair to his fit body.

Stiles lets a sigh pass his lips as he rests his head back against the chair to look up at the pipe-covered ceiling above them. “I didn’t mean to cut my stitches open, you know.” He says after a moment of silence, looking back to Theo.

This actually does make Theo look up, goggles still on. “Oh? You didn’t mean to climb up a bookshelf and have it fall on you, then?” He asks, tilting his head to the side, non-impressed look on his face.

Stiles runs his tongue over his dry bottom lip, happy that Theo’s decided to engage. It gets so boring down here, he needs _something_. “No.” He defends, “...Well, yes, I meant to climb it. It just happened to have fell on top of me. We really do need a ladder down here, don’t you think? Or perhaps lower shelves. Do they make lower bookshelves? We need some.” He babbles. Talking without stop is another effect of his immense boredom. He’s so relestless that he could talk for hours at a time, jumping from one topic to another aimlessly, anything to occupy himself.

Theo’s lips curl into an amused smirk at that. He actually seems to find Stiles’ constant talking amusing opposed to annoying. He finally pulls his goggles up, letting them rest on top of his head and revealing his pale blue eyes. Stiles has come to know Theo very well. He knows the difference of when he’s in a playful mood and when he’s actually angry. It’s difficult, because Theo hides his emotions well under a calm, cunning exterior, but there are always small signs when Stiles has pushed too hard and should stop before it’s too late. He’s learned that the hard way. Theo does allow Stiles a great deal of leeway to joke or banter, even seems to enjoy Stiles’ wit most of the time, but only if he doesn’t push past a certain line. Knowing those lines is a skill Stiles developed very quickly.

“Hand me the bandages,” Theo instructs, placing his bloody needle back onto the small table next to him. Stiles hands him a roll of cloth bandages from next to him and Theo begins wrapping his newly sewn arm.

“I’m beginning to think you just enjoy my attention,” Theo says with a coquettish grin still on his face as he stands and wipes his hands clean of blood with a rag. 

Stiles sits up in the chair and examines his bandaged arm carefully. He can’t disbute that remark, Stiles _does_ enjoy Theo’s attention, despite Theo being the one who is keeping him prisoner down here. It’s not as if he wants to crave Theo or his attention, he can’t help himself. Theo has become his whole world in a sense. Knowing what Theo’s doing, knowing what he’s thinking, has become such an intregal part of Stiles’ daily existence at this point that he doesn’t know what he would do without him. Theo has made it so Stiles _needs_ him, can’t live without him. He’s completely at his mercy. It’s frightening when Stiles gives it too much thought. Stiles turns his attention back to Theo and swallows dryly before asking, “Perhaps that’s because you’re the only person I’m allowed to see?”

Theo’s smirk faulters a bit. One of those small signs that Stiles has pushed it just a tad too far. But while Stiles is good at detecting those signs, he’s not always very good at listening to them, much to Theo’s annoyance.

Stiles isn’t necessarily afraid of Theo, but he knows not to underestimate him either. He knows how to burrow himself into Stiles’ head and tamper with his thoughts with just a few words. He may not appear it by his charming demeanor, but he’s incredibly cunning and calculating when he wants something. Stiles still doesn’t know what Theo wants from him. A living prize to remind himself of his achievements? A prisoner to show his control over?... Companionship? It’s difficult to tell. Theo is always careful not to reveal too much, not to show any vulnerability. Any weakness.

Stiles sits up in the chair and watches Theo carefully, rubbing his arm absent-mindedly. “I wouldn’t have to climb bookshelves if you’d let me go outside.”

Theo rolls his eyes. It’s a battle they fight contantly - well, Stiles fights, Theo never dignifies him by fighting back - and it’s one Stiles is most certainly losing. He can’t help himself from trying however, especially in the last few weeks as his restlessness rapidly increases and that itch to escape returns.

“You don’t belong in that world, Stiles,” Theo explains calmly, stepping closer to Stiles still sat on the operating chair until he’s only a few inches away, “Besides, where would you go?” He tilts his head, leaning in a bit closer, “Who would have you?” 

Stiles clenches his jaw tightly, staring back at Theo. There’s that itch again. “You can’t expect me to stay here forever,” he argues back, “You can’t force me.”

“Oh?” Theo says, eyebrows rising. He reaches out to brush his fingers along the shape of Stiles’ jaw. His grip tightens in a second, not enough to cause any pain, just enough to keep Stiles’ head in place. His eyes bore into Stiles intensely for a moment, so much so that Stiles averts his gaze. This makes Theo’s smirk return and he leans in to brush his lips against Stiles’.

Stiles leans into the kiss, sitting up slightly. Theo’s hand remains firm on his jaw, kissing gently. Sometimes Theo treats him as more of a lover than one of his creations. He was confused the first time Theo showed his attraction, but it’s second nature by now. Theo knows every inch of his body intimately, inside and out.

Theo pulls back after a moment, eyes dream-like and features soft. He releases Stiles’ jaw and runs his thumb across his bottom lip. Stiles watches him with interested eyes until he pulls away completely. “You belong here, Stiles. I created you.” He runs a hand over Stiles’ probably flushed cheek then steps away, leaving Stiles on the chair. “Now, do not climb anymore bookshelves today or you’ll be stitching yourself up.”

Stiles rolls his eyes at that. That itch dies down again, though it’s still there. It’s always there. However, he knows escape simply isn’t possible. Nor is it practical. He hasn’t a clue where he would go, how he would survive. Perhaps in his former life he was more, but he’s Theo’s creation, now. His _monster_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So let me know what you guys think of this. I’ve had the idea in my head for weeks and needed to let it all out. It was really hard to write, I think I’m being way too critical on myself. But I finally did it, here it is! I’d like to continue this, but I’m not sure, so let me know if you guys would like more of this or if you have any ideas on where it should go!! :)

**Author's Note:**

> So let me know what you guys think of this. I’ve had the idea in my head for weeks and needed to let it all out. It was really hard to write, I think I’m being way too critical on myself. But I finally did it, here it is! I’d like to continue this, but I’m not sure, so let me know if you guys would like more of this or if you have any ideas on where it should go!! :)


End file.
